Spark of Inspiration, Sparkives

Rambles

12-6-4

I spent the greater part of the day sucked into stories by PD (dead link, no!), from a link I'd received a week ago or so on a list I'd just happened to subscribe to (again) and I "just happened" to come across that message this morning. She talked about New Mexico and visions and voices, as drums, flutes and Tibetan singing bowls played in the background and the sky here turned from partly overcast to a gray scene of mountain peaks (how does it do that, aren't they supposed to be hanging down?)and then fully clouded over. Another "inner" day.

She was talking about those coincidences that happen at such a volume that they can't really be considered coincidences, and I wondered about those same things in my own life and the highs and lows of them. Sometimes everything is just zing, zing, zing, and then sometimes it's just zot. Meanwhile I was pulled to read more. Didn't I have something else I was going to do today?

Many days have been spent that way, and many more recently as I allow myself to let go of the control-brain rules about what I'm "supposed" to be doing. I know I'm not "supposed" to be doing anything. Yet there's the list of things to be done. But there are stories to be explored that draw me in like a magnet. Who is this woman?

Another moose. :) Another facet reflecting back my own mysteries, calling to me who usually sits on the more mundane side of the veil, reminding me to open up to the whispers and the pictures that are always happening but don't always get noticed.

Sleepwalkers was one of those stories. And Oversoul Seven, and I'm in the middle of that trilogy again. The shrink is having out-of-body visits with people and thinks he's losing his mind. Reconnection book talks about people seeing other-dimensional people/beings and he wondered why he didn't see them, and I wondered the same thing.

I went outside for a smoke as the rain started to sprinkle down and laughed to myself-- the same reason I don't call people or drop by, I always figure people are busy... because I am always so busy. Even in my casual time I am busy being casual, and don't interrupt me, darnit. Why would anybody poke their nose in to that? Why am I always so busy being busy and how do other people not have things to do that they are fascinated with that would keep them so busy?

No, that doesn't work, even busy people get visited by spooks. Well maybe I could hang up a welcome mat or something then. But then, I don't really want to be a bus station for everybody's "dead" relatives either. If I'm creating this dream then I'd much rather let somebody else do that. What am I wanting? More of mySelf....

When I was in Santa Monica it was zing, zing, zing, the synchronicities flowing fluently and the more I loosened up control-brain the easier it went, showing up in places I wanted to be even though I took the wrong road, things like that. Once I walked three blocks in one direction and two blocks back, winding up in the same spot. Missed an entire block on the way back. Taste of teleportation. It'd be nice to do that on purpose. I found a piece of an Elias session talking about that this morning, and sent it on to the Tweakers list.

Every once in a while I still feel like I'm all alone just making it all up. All of it, the people, the adventures, the experiences. Cardboard facades. Twilight Zone material. The rain is heavier now, a sound-machine from three directions, the windows in the house closest to me. Surround sound. Perceptions. What if what's beyond the property line is fuzz, nondelineated ether?

Ramtha said we've lived this life a hundred times already and it's time to wake up and remember. In sharing this idea with friends the weekend before last there was a look in their eyes that I felt like I could fall into and lose myself if I dared let go. I didn't. I recognized the "holy moment", and pulled myself back into "reality". Why?

More importantly, if I chose to remain in the coffeehouse then there's a me who didn't. Wonder where she went...

I remember now I was going to take a nap today and see what sorts of lucid travels I could be up to, as I look at the clock and it says it's time to pick up the kids. Through the stories I traveled to New Mexico and the northeast, and I feel as though in-between moments I've been very busy (again) in discussions and adventures. I feel like there's something waiting just on the other side of the keyboard, a story, maybe it's getting ready to be written, maybe it's getting ready to be lived.

I am drawn to .. something. Something more fulfilling, something more REAL than "reality." Maybe I'm the one who's been cardboard.

2004 Beth Shearon